Chapter Four

Hidden in the shadows of the front porch, Sam leaned back against the house and took a deep drag on his cigarette as he watched the riders gathering in the yard. He really should be over there to greet them, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he needed to stay close to the house just in case Miss Catherine Eaton woke up.

At least he’d had the foresight to warn everyone to be quiet lest Davy hear them. He hoped their care would keep the woman from being disturbed, too. God only knew what trouble she would cause if she found out about his meeting.

When he judged that everyone had arrived, Sam took one last pull on his smoke, ground the butt out beneath his heel, and left his hiding place. He’d heard not one sound from the house to indicate his visitors had roused anyone.

Moving silently across the yard, Sam smiled to himself, thinking how surprised Miss Eaton would be if she knew what he had planned for tonight. She was so anxious to make peace between the large and small ranchers, and she was so damn sure he was the man who could do it. God, he only hoped she was right.

From her hiding place along the side of the house, Catherine watched Sam Connors hurry away. Luckily, she had seen the glowing tip of his cigarette just in time to duck back out of sight before he noticed her skulking around.

She shivered slightly as the night wind whipped at her skirt, and she pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders. She had thrown on her skirt and shirtwaist over her nightdress in her haste to get outside, remembering only at the last moment that her white top would make her all too visible in the moonlight. The shawl had been an effort at disguise, but now she was glad she had worn it.

When Connors had joined the others on the far side of the bunkhouse, Catherine stole around the corner of the house and darted across the open space to the bunkhouse. The building was perfectly quiet, and she assumed its occupants were also attending the meeting.

Briefly, she considered how she might get close enough to hear what was going on without being seen, and she decided the most logical observation point would be from inside the bunkhouse. From there she could listen at a rear window, while remaining safely out of sight. Unfortunately, if someone reentered the building, she would be caught. To avoid such an incident, she would have to take care to slip away before the meeting broke up.

On tiptoe, she crossed the bunkhouse porch and darted inside. The large room smelled of horses and leather and men’s sweat, but she wasted no time turning up her nose. Feeling her way in the darkness, she found a rear window that had been opened to the night air.

Flattening herself against the wall beside it, she went completely still, willing her heart to stop pounding so she could hear what was being said outside.

At first, she heard nothing in particular. Everyone seemed to be talking at once in hushed voices, then gradually they fell silent. Catherine had no trouble picturing Sam Connors drawing everyone’s attention to himself.

“I reckon you all know why I called you here tonight. Everybody knows we can’t settle this fencing business by shooting each other.”

Catherine covered her mouth to smother her gasp of surprise. Could that really be Sam Connors speaking? Perhaps she had mistaken his voice.

“We don’t plan to shoot each other, Sam,” someone said. “We’re only gonna shoot them what cuts our fences.”

“And who do you think is doing it, Enoch? There ain’t any strangers in this fight. We’re all neighbors, and we were friends before anybody started stringing up wire.”

“I was never friends with any of them sodbusters, nor any of them bastards who run a three-cow outfit and call themselves ranchers, neither,” Enoch claimed. “They been living off our beef for years, and I for one am ready to put a stop to it.”

The murmur of assent sent a cold chill up Catherine’s spine, and she clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from crying out in protest.

Sam spoke again. “Your fences’ll protect what’s yours. You’ve got no call to worry anymore, not if you treat everyone else fair.”

Fair! Catherine almost choked as she recalled how he had ridiculed her plea for fairness. Was it possible her feeble arguments had changed his mind? She sincerely doubted it. More likely, Sam Connors had simply been provoking her by pretending indifference to her pleas. She leaned closer to the window so she could catch his every word.

“It won’t hurt anybody to put in some gates so the roads ain’t blocked anymore.”

“How about if we hang out a sign telling the rustlers they’s welcome, too,” a voice asked sarcastically. Catherine recognized it as Amos Pettigrew’s.

“If you’re worried about the gates making things too easy for rustlers, post some guards. It’s sure as hell easier to watch a few gates than to patrol twenty miles of fence, Amos.”

“Even if we do put in gates, what’s to keep ’em from cutting the fences anyway?” someone else asked.

“Nothing, until we talk this thing out with them and find out what’s really stuck in their craws. That’s why we need to pay Gus Nylan a visit. We know he speaks for all the small ranchers and the farmers. We’ll find out exactly why they’re all mad... ”

“We know why they’re mad!” someone protested.

“Then we’ll ask him what it’ll take to make them stop cutting fences,” Sam replied.

“I ain’t lettin’ Spencer and Riley back on my place,” Pettigrew shouted.

“Then let ’em have their cattle back,” Sam said. Catherine smiled at the impatience in his voice. It was the same tone he had used with her on more than one occasion. “It’s called a compromise, Amos. Each side gives a little so nobody has to surrender. We all keep our pride, and nobody gets hurt.”

“Are you afraid of getting hurt?” Pettigrew accused. “So far, you’ve got off easy. Maybe you’re already in cahoots with ’em.”

“If you think so, you can leave now.” Sam’s voice rang like steel, and once again Catherine shivered. She held her breath as she waited, but she heard no sound to indicate Pettigrew had accepted the invitation.

“How about the rest of you? Does anybody doubt which side I’m on?”

Catherine heard only the rustle of booted feet shuffling in the dirt. After what seemed an eternity, Sam spoke again.

“All right. First off, we need to send somebody to see Nylan. I don’t think we should all go. We don’t aim to scare him to death, just put the fear of God into him.”

The crowd chuckled uncertainly at this attempt at humor, and Catherine could sense their tension easing.

“I need about five men to go with me.” He called some names, a few of which Catherine recognized as parents of her students. She noticed he did not include Pettigrew in the group.

“Six guns ain’t many,” Pettigrew pointed out in annoyance.

“I don’t expect I’ll need any guns at all. I said, we’re going to talk. We’ll meet here tomorrow night, as soon as it’s dark. I don’t want any of Nylan’s friends to see us and get the idea we’re going to burn him out or anything.”

“What happens then?” someone asked.

“I’ll send word around about what he says. I think he’ll see reason once he knows we don’t want any trouble. If he agrees to stop the cutting, we’ll all put in gates.”

“And if he don’t?”

“Then we’ll meet again.”

There was more discussion, but Catherine could tell they had accomplished their main purpose. Soon they would mount up and be on their way. Quickly, before they could, she snuck out of the bunkhouse and retraced her steps back to the shadows of the porch. She was almost to her window when she heard the first riders drifting by.

She froze, turning her back to them so the whiteness of her face or her shirtwaist would not betray her. Her heart hammered in her chest as they came closer, and to her horror they pulled up directly across from where she stood.

“What do you think, Amos?” someone she did not know asked.

Pettigrew snorted. “I think Sam is a damn fool for trying to reason with those bastards.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Oh, I’ll give Sam his chance, but I’ve already sent to Dodge for some gunmen. Anybody tries to cut my fence is in for a big surprise. And if that don’t scare ’em, maybe a little night riding will. Nothing like burning somebody’s house down around his ears to ‘put the fear of God into him,’ like Sam says.”

Pettigrew’s nasty chuckle turned Catherine’s heart to stone. She had no doubt he meant exactly what he said, and all she could see was the Nylan house going up in flames while those innocent children slept peacefully in their beds. Once again, she covered her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping as Pettigrew and his companion at last rode away.

The instant she judged it was safe, she climbed back in through her window. Her trembling legs could no longer support her, and she sank down onto the floor by the window, hugging her shawl around her to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.

What was she going to do? The question buzzed in her head as she considered various alternatives and just as quickly discarded them.

Perhaps she was simply too shocked to think clearly, she reasoned. She could not seem to reconcile in her mind the Sam Connors she had come to know with the man she’d heard speaking outside just now. She had been right to believe he was the one who could bring both sides together, but why had he acted like such a scoundrel when she had suggested it to him?

Her head swam as she recalled how he had used all the same arguments on his friends that he had scorned when she had presented them to him. Unfortunately, she had far more to consider than Sam Connors’s unexplainable behavior. There was also the matter of Amos Pettigrew’s hired gunfighters and his threats to burn out innocent settlers. She should go to Sam immediately and warn him of Pettigrew’s plans.

But how would she explain how she had come to overhear them? If her previous conduct had not already convinced him to remove David from her influence, he would probably put the boy under lock and key if he found out she had been sneaking around and spying on him.

And she couldn’t be perfectly sure Sam would or even could stop the violence. No, when she thought it over, she realized the most logical thing to do was to warn Augustus Nylan, since he would be the first victim of any violence. If he were expecting the trouble, he would be ready for it, so even if no one could stop Pettigrew from carrying out his threats, the Nylans would have a chance to protect themselves. And if Mr. Nylan knew Pettigrew’s plans, he’d have an added incentive for cooperating with Sam.

Yes, she would warn Mr. Nylan, but she would have to do so tomorrow, since Sam was planning to visit him tomorrow night. That meant she would have to find an excuse to leave the ranch in the morning. David would be disappointed, but she imagined Sam would be relieved to be rid of her.

The thought sent a stab of longing through her. As foolish as it was, she suddenly wanted Sam Connors to desire her company. He was, of course, the most infuriating man she had ever met. Imagine him trying to convince her she was wrong when he agreed with everything she had said to him! Yet the very fact that he had taken such delight in tormenting her touched a responsive chord within her.

Here was a man who wasn’t afraid of taking an unpopular position, whether his adversary was an unimportant schoolteacher or the most powerful man in the county. He enjoyed the conflict, too. Why else would he have pretended to disagree with Catherine?

She smiled at the memory of their arguments. He was, by far, the most exciting man she had ever known. And she hadn’t forgotten he had said she was pretty. Twice.

But how could she change her attitude toward him without making him suspicious? Perhaps she could convince him she was only being reasonable for David’s sake. She wouldn’t have to let him know she knew the truth about him.

Why did everything have to be so difficult? she wondered irritably as she forced herself to rise and retire once more to bed.

Catherine slept much later than she had intended to once she finally drifted off. By the time she was up and dressed, she found that Sam and David had already eaten and gone about their business.

Inez gave Catherine’s puffy eyes a curious glance, but the housekeeper was tactful enough not to question her on how she had slept.

As soon as she had finished her breakfast, Catherine asked, “Do you know where I can find Mr. Connors?”

“Si, I think he is in his office.” Inez gave her directions and sent her off with a knowing grin. Catherine assumed Inez expected her to try to make up with Mr. Sam again. Catherine only hoped she could.

Sam’s office was located on the opposite side of the house, down the third wing, and also opened onto one of the many side porches. Sam Connors was seated at his desk, hunched over a large book that contained long rows of figures. The room’s furnishings reflected the masculine tastes of its occupant. The ancient roll-top desk, scarred by cigarette burns and spur scratches, faced the far wall. The two stuffed chairs by the stove were worn and comfortable-looking, and a moth-eaten bearskin rug covered the floor. A cool breeze blew in the partially opened outside door and ruffled the pages of the ledger book. It also ruffled the black hair curling over Connor’s collar.

Catherine placed a hand over her stomach where her breakfast was churning dangerously. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she knocked on the open door.

Connors glanced over his shoulder in surprise and then rose from his chair. His dark eyes were guarded, but he managed a small smile. “Good morning, Miss Eaton.”

“Good morning. May I speak with you for a moment?” she asked, glad her voice did not reflect the uncertainty she felt.

“Sure, come in.”

Catherine toyed with the doorknob a moment, debating whether or not to shut the door. Impulsively, she did so, lest David overhear them and come rushing to her rescue again. This was one conversation she did not want interrupted.

“Mr. Connors, I said some things last night which I had no right to say. I’m afraid I have an alarming tendency to speak without thinking, and if I offended you, I am truly sorry.”

She held her breath as she waited for his response. His eyes narrowed, but his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “Do you think that if you apologize to me often enough, I’ll take the hint and apologize right back?”

Catherine smiled in spite of her nervousness. “You can’t blame me for trying, now, can you?”

“No, I reckon I can’t.” He studied his boots for a few seconds. “Since you’ve put me on the spot, I guess I said some things last night I’m sorry for, too.”

How could such an ungracious apology please her so much? She should give him the edge of her tongue, but oddly enough, she no longer wanted to. “Are you saying you really don’t think I’m useless?” she asked, unconsciously taking a step toward him.

Useless? Sam thought as he watched the graceful way she moved. No, not entirely. He could think of many interesting and satisfactory ways in which he could use her. He let his gaze flick over her and pretended to consider her question. “Well, I doubt you’d be much help punching cows,” he concluded.

“And you wouldn’t be much help at the Pennsylvania Academy of Art, either, unless—” she looked him over consideringly, too, “unless you wanted to model.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, you’d be a wonderful model, Mr. Connors,” she assured him. “You’re so—” She caught herself just in time.

“So what?”

What on earth could she say? Certainly not what she was thinking, that his body was so blatantly masculine she was tempted to ask if she could see it. Certainly not that his changing expressions intrigued her so much she longed for the time to study each and every one of them at length.

“What am I, Miss Eaton,” he prodded, coming closer. “And why are you blushing?”

“I’m not blushing.”

His eyebrows lifted skeptically. “Then you must have a fever.” His eyes were laughing at her, and when one of his hands came up to test her forehead, she captured it in self-defense.

“Really, Mr. Connors, if you aren’t careful, you’ll have to apologize again,” she said in annoyance.

Sam grinned. This was what he’d been waiting for, the sparkle of anger in her eyes. The feel of her hands on his wasn’t too bad, either. “I haven’t said anything insulting, but I think you were about to.”

“I was not!”

“Then why can’t you tell me what you were going to say?”

“I can’t remember now,” she lied.

When she would have released his hand, he clasped her wrist and held on, not tightly, but she would have had to use force to free herself. She chose not to.

“My God, you’re tiny,” he said, measuring her wrist with his fingers.

“Small and useless, isn’t that what you said?”

“I believe I said, ‘small and pretty and useless.’ ”

She’d remembered, of course, and she was unaccountably delighted that he did. “Are you trying to soften my heart with flattery?”

“Could I?”

His voice was soft and deep, and suddenly she realized the fluttering in her chest wasn’t caused by nervousness at all. His fingers still encircled her wrist, the rough skin sending sensation streaking up her arm, and he was so close she could actually feel the heat radiating from his body. Or maybe she was only imagining it. Maybe she did have a fever after all.

Sam gave her wrist a tug, bringing her a step nearer so he could smell the freshness of her skin and her hair. How long since he’d been so close to a woman like this?

Never, he admitted reluctantly. He’d never known a woman like Catherine Eaton before. She fascinated him in ways he’d never imagined.

She infuriated him, too, he reminded himself, but somehow that didn’t matter when she was here, close enough to touch. Close enough to...

Catherine saw his face coming down toward hers. She read his intent in the depths of his eyes, but she didn’t move away, couldn’t have moved away even if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t want to, not at all.

His fingers tightened on her arm, as if he were afraid she would escape, and then his mouth touched hers.

Not the least bit tentative, he drew her into his arms. Catherine rose up on tiptoe, instinctively clinging to his shirt as he embraced her and pulled her flesh against his solid strength.

The feel of her breasts flattened against his chest unleashed a riot of sensation that sent her blood roaring. His hands slid over her back, molding her to him, and a groan started deep in his chest, vibrating through her.

Somehow her arms were around his neck, her fingers buried in the thick, dark hair the wind had teased moments ago. He cupped her buttocks, lifting her into the cradle of his thighs where she could feel the hard evidence of his desire. Something deep within her contracted in response, and need flared to life.

“Sam?” David’s voice was muffled. “Sam, are you in there? Why is the door closed?”

They broke apart instantly. For one second they stared at each other, aghast at what had happened, before Sam turned away. The door opened, and David said, “Have you seen... Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Eaton. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Inez said you were awake, and I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Catherine couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She had the oddest sensation of having fallen from a great height. Somehow she managed a small smile. “Here I am,” she said, although she barely recognized her own voice.

“Is anything wrong? You two haven’t been fighting again, have you?” David asked in dismay.

“Oh, no,” she hastily assured him. “I... we...” She gave Sam a desperate glance, but he still had his back to them. She supposed he wasn’t in any condition to face David just yet. Catherine drew a steadying breath and ransacked her brain for something to tell David. “I was just explaining to your brother that I’ve decided he was right about my not being properly chaperoned here. I think I should go back to town today.”

She felt as much as saw Sam’s startled reaction, but she did not dare look directly at him, not yet. Her heart was still unsteady, and simply being this close to him was unnerving her.

“But you said we could work together today,” David protested.

“Maybe Sa—your brother would let you stay in town so we could.” Her voice sounded almost normal now. If only her lungs would begin to work without her conscious effort. She hazarded a glance in Sam’s direction.

His expression revealed nothing. If he still felt a reaction to their kiss, no one would ever know. “Do you really have to go?” he asked. She wished she could read the emotions glittering in his dark eyes.

“I—I think it’s best,” she replied, thinking she now had another reason to get away besides having to warn the Nylans.

“Maybe it would be best,” Sam replied thoughtfully. He turned to David at last. “You can stay at the hotel and take Miss Eaton there to eat.”

“Oh, boy! Just give me a minute to get my gear together,” David said, and disappeared from the doorway.

With David gone, Catherine felt vulnerable. She looked up at Sam, and the air seemed to crackle between them.

“Don’t look so scared,” he advised. “I’m not going to grab you again.”

“I’m not scared,” she lied. In fact, she was terrified, not of him but of her own reaction. No other experience in her life had left her so shaken.

He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “I guess now I have to apologize again.”

Catherine wrapped her arms around her waist in an unconsciously defensive gesture. “I didn’t exactly scream for help.”

He muttered a curse and turned away, pacing angrily around the room. “I know you don’t think much of me, but I don’t want you to think I make a habit of grabbing women and forcing myself on them.”

So, he did care what she thought of him after all. Somewhat reassured, she said, “And I don’t make a habit of letting men kiss me.”

“I never thought you did.” He looked genuinely distressed, reminding her of the man her heart had seen even before she had heard him speaking up for justice last night.

“Well ...” she began, not knowing what to say. She’d known she found him attractive, and after last night, she’d also begun to like him, but all this was too much, too soon. How did a lady explain she didn’t mind if a gentleman kissed her so long as he waited until she was ready? And how did a lady say she would probably be ready again very soon.

“Well?” he replied expectantly.

“I... thank you for your hospitality,” she said lamely.

His eyebrows rose, but he made no comment. Grateful for his silence, she hurried out.

Catherine had a little trouble getting rid of David long enough to allow her to walk the few miles out to the Nylan place. Anxious for the lessons she had promised, he left her with ill-concealed reluctance when she explained she wanted a few hours alone to do some personal chores before noon. They arranged to meet at the hotel restaurant later for a meal.

As soon as David was out of sight, Catherine set out for the Nylan ranch. The walk seemed interminable, and Catherine had plenty of time to rehearse what she would say to Mr. Nylan. Above all else, she wanted him to understand Sam wanted peace. If the two of them could work together, the violence Pettigrew had threatened would not be necessary.

The younger Nylan children were playing in the yard and heralded her approach. Lulie came out on the porch juggling the baby, and she waved a welcome.

“Miss Eaton, this is a surprise. What brings you here on a Saturday morning?”

“I need to speak to your husband. Is he around? It’s very important,” Catherine explained breathlessly.

“He’s out in the barn,” Lulie replied, frowning. “Tommy, go fetch your pa.”

When the boy had scampered away, Lulie invited Catherine in for something to drink, an offer the schoolteacher gratefully accepted.

Augustus Nylan apologized for his appearance. He had apparently been doing a laborious job out in the barn and was soaked with sweat and covered with dust.

“I’m sorry to take you from your work,” Catherine said as he took a seat at the kitchen table opposite her, “but it’s very important. Do you suppose you could send the children outside?”

Sensing Catherine’s urgency, Lulie shooed them right out. Jessica was the last to leave. She sent her teacher a venomous look as she closed the door behind her, but Catherine had more important things to worry about than Jessica’s sensitive feelings.

“Mr. Nylan, I spent last night out at the Spur and—”

“Glory be, Miss Eaton. What were you doing out there?” Lulie wanted to know.

Impatiently, Catherine explained about Mrs. Tate’s illness and the change in plans.

“You shouldn’t of gone out there alone,” Lulie chastened, but her husband silenced her with a look.

“Go on,” Augustus said.

“Well, around midnight I was awakened by a commotion outside, and I saw several riders coming into the yard. I counted more than twenty, and I naturally assumed Mr. Connors must have called a meeting of some kind. He was very upset when he found out I was staying at the ranch and tried to make me leave, which makes me think he was afraid I might learn of the meeting. At any rate, I snuck outside and eavesdropped.”

“Do you know who was at the meeting?” Nylan asked.

“I didn’t see any faces but I recognized a few voices, and Mr. Connors called some of them by name.” She told him who they were. “Please understand, Mr. Connors does not want any violence. He was trying to convince the others they should install gates and treat their neighbors fairly. He and a few others are coming over here tonight to talk with you about ways to settle the dispute.”

“Coming here? Tonight?” Nylan sounded alarmed.

“Please don’t be worried. They don’t mean to cause you any harm. They only want to talk this thing out so it can be settled. I know if you give them a chance, you can work everything out. But if you can’t—”

“What?”

Catherine swallowed and chose her words very carefully. “If you can’t, Mr. Pettigrew has sent for some gunmen from Dodge. I assume he meant Dodge City. The others don’t know about this. I overheard him telling another man after the meeting broke up. If you and Mr. Connors can’t come to terms, Mr. Pettigrew is going to turn his hired guns loose. He even mentioned night riding and burning people’s homes.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Lulie murmured, absently jostling her fussy baby. “Gus, I warned you. I told you if you didn’t—”

“Hush up, woman. I sure thank you for telling me all this, Miss Eaton. I’ll be ready for Connors when he comes tonight.”

Catherine didn’t like the angry glitter in his eyes. “Mr. Connors does not mean you harm, Mr. Nylan. He’s trying to do what’s best for everyone concerned.”

Nylan smiled mirthlessly. “I’ll remember that, Miss Eaton.”

Catherine couldn’t think of anything else to say. Surely she had made herself clear, but if so, why did she feel so uneasy?

“Won’t you stay for dinner?” Lulie asked. “I’ll have it on the table real soon.”

“Oh, thank you, but I’m supposed to meet David Connors at the hotel at noon. I don’t want him to know I’ve been out here.” She rose from the table, hoping the Nylans would offer to carry her back in a wagon. The long walk out had exhausted her, and she had learned even the early spring sun could be fierce in Texas.

“I’ll get Jimmy to take you back to town,” Nylan said. Catherine had barely begun to sigh in relief, when he added. “You can ride up behind him on the mare.”

Catherine arrived back at the schoolhouse much the worse for the jostling she had received clinging to Jimmy’s saddle. She barely had time to get cleaned up before meeting David. As the afternoon passed, Catherine’s sense of unease increased. She told herself she was only concerned about the meeting tonight, but she knew she was fooling herself.

David noted her distraction more than once and commented on it. She explained she had slept poorly the night before and asked him to excuse her right after supper. Alone at the school, she watched the sunset with none of the elation she usually felt at the magnificent display. Soon Sam Connors would be riding out to the Nylan place. She tried picturing the meeting in her mind, imagining Sam using his powers of persuasion on Mr. Nylan the way he had on Pettigrew and the others last night. Nylan would be willing to cooperate. After all, that had been Catherine’s sole purpose in warning him.

At long last, the sun disappeared below the horizon and darkness blanketed the sky. Her body ached with weariness, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to bed, not while she knew Sam was out there with Nylan. She waited, as if her vigil could somehow influence the outcome of the meeting. Only when her lapel watch told her the meeting was most certainly long over did she finally change into her nightdress and seek the comfort of her feather mattress.

This night Sam met his visitors in the yard, his horse saddled and ready to go. He’d chosen a big bay gelding, since the stallion would be too skittish to be dependable. Sam had just finished cautioning the other five men when Pettigrew and two of his cowboys rode up.

“You weren’t invited to this tea party, Amos,” Sam said, managing to hold the major portion of his annoyance in check.

“I told you I didn’t think you had enough guns. What if Nylan starts shooting?”

“Why would he shoot? He’s got a wife and kids in that house. He’s not going to take any chances.”

“Maybe not, but the more there are of us, the less likely he’ll be to cause trouble, so we’re riding along with you.”

Sam sighed in disgust. “Suit yourself, but you’d better keep those guns in your holsters, or when I start shooting, I’ll be aiming your way.”

Amos spit a stream of tobacco to show his contempt for Sam’s threats, but Connors noticed Pettigrew cautioning his cowboys when he thought Sam wasn’t looking.

The men rode swiftly, the pounding of their horses’ hooves the only sound in the night air. Above them, stars twinkled crystal bright and the moon rose higher in the sky to light their way.

Sam stopped them just as the Nylan place came into view. “Remember what I said. No shooting. We’re going to ride in and call for Nylan to come out and talk. Anybody who pulls a gun will have to answer to me.”

Pettigrew grunted. “The place looks awful quiet to me.”

“They’re probably asleep, like most honest folks,” Sam snapped. “Let’s go.”

He kicked the bay into motion and the others followed, going into the ranch yard at a lope. Sam reined in, his horse dancing as the others closed ranks around him. “Gus Nylan! Wake up! We’ve come to talk—” Something flashed inside the house and a gunshot shattered the stillness. Instantly, the night exploded as a dozen guns spit fire at the riders. Horses screamed in terror, and the bay reared. Sam fought to control him as he tried to decide whether to fire back or run. The others took the decision from him. Someone to his left cried out in pain, and Pettigrew shouted, “Let’s get out of here!”

A horse on Sam’s right bumped the bay and sent it reeling again. Sam struggled with the reins as a bullet streamed past his ear. He was half turned when something struck him in the chest, taking his breath and turning the dark night even blacker.

Catherine awoke with a start, the sun bright on her face. For a moment she could not think why she felt alarmed, and then she remembered the meeting of the night before. She scrambled out of bed and looked outside. Everything was as still and peaceful as one would expect on a Sunday morning in Crosswicks.

How on earth would she find out what had happened? she wondered, and then castigated herself for being an idiot. It would surely be the main topic of conversation at church this morning. She was pulling her hair out of its nighttime braid before she even finished the thought.

Catherine fairly ran as she made her way down the wooden sidewalk of Main Street. Twila and Mathias Shallcross caught sight of her and waved a greeting, which she returned. David came out of the hotel up ahead and waited for her.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, and Catherine wondered how he could be so happy, until she remembered he knew nothing of Sam’s plans for the previous evening. “Did you sleep all right last night?”

“Just fine,” she lied, deciding not to mention how late she had sat up worrying about his brother.

The church bell clanged, startling her. Unconsciously, she quickened her pace.

“That’s just the first bell,” David said with a laugh. “No need to run.”

Catherine felt every need to run, but she consciously slowed her pace so she wouldn’t have to explain her hurry to David. He would find out soon enough, and she didn’t want him to suspect she already knew.

“Wonder where everybody is this morning,” David said as the church came into view. Usually by this time, the churchyard was full of the wagons and horses of the outlying ranchers and farmers. This morning only a few were lined up at the hitching rails.

Catherine fought down a wave of apprehension and searched in vain for sight of Sam Connor’s tall figure. The Shallcrosses reached the small crowd gathered in front of the church before Catherine and David did, and one of the men began talking rapidly to Mathias, gesturing wildly with his hands. This time David did not question her hurry as they both rushed over to hear what he was saying.

“... an ambush! Nylan must’ve had twenty men inside, and as soon as they rode up, they opened fire.” Catherine felt the blood draining from her head and grasped David’s arm for support. Fortunately, he was too preoccupied to notice.

“Who opened fire on who?” he wanted to know.

The man turned to David and his expression fell. “It was your brother. Sam and some other ranchers was going to make peace talk with Gun Nylan, but he must’ve gotten wind of it somehow, and he’d set up an ambush.”

“With all those children in the house?” Mrs. Shallcross said in disbelief.

“He sent his family over to the Smiths,” the man explained, then turned back to David, his homely face awash with sympathy.

Catherine’s heart turned to stone even before she heard the words.

“Like I said, as soon as Sam and the others rode up, Nylan’s men opened fire. Didn’t even give a warning. One of Pettigrew’s men took a bullet in the leg, and Sam was hit, too.”

“How bad?” David demanded.

“Catherine, are you all right?” Twila cried, rushing to take Catherine’s other arm.

“I’m... yes... fine...” she managed around the constriction in her throat. “How bad?” she echoed David’s concern.

“Coulda been real bad. He got it in the chest, but the bullet hit a rib and skidded off. He’s torn up some, but he’ll be all right. I reckon you oughta get on home.”

David was already running toward the livery stable for his horse. Catherine had actually taken a step to follow him, when common sense reminded her she had no right to go to Sam Connors. She really had no right to be upset at all, except to feel guilt for having caused this disaster.

“Catherine?” Twila put an arm around her waist.

“I know this must be a shock to you, you being from the East and all, but—”

“I saw him just yesterday,” she said inanely.

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Twila’s voice held a strong note of disapproval. “You should have told me you planned to go out to the Spur. I never would’ve—”

“Twila, shouldn’t someone go out there now? Some of the women, I mean, to make sure he’s all right?”

“Al just told us he’s all right,” Twila pointed out.

“I mean, that he’s being well taken care of. Men are so—so lax about those things,” Catherine improvised.

Twila’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “Fancy that. I didn’t think you and Sam got along too well.”

The blood came rushing back to Catherine’s face. “I’d be concerned about anyone who’d been shot... anyone I knew,” she corrected, remembering someone else had been wounded in the attack, too.

“Of course, Sam has Inez to take care of him,” Twila reminded her, “but she probably wouldn’t mind if we brought her some food. Things are probably pretty hectic out there today. Would you like to go along?” she added in an innocent tone.

“Yes, I would,” Catherine admitted, ignoring her burning cheeks and Twila’s knowing grin.

Twila quickly organized the ladies into a relief effort, explaining to the Reverend Fletcher that sometimes doing Christian charity was more important than attending church. The good Reverend readily agreed and even offered to go with them.

It took a few hours to prepare the food, and by the time they were ready, Catherine was feeling close to frantic. What if Sam was more seriously hurt than Al had indicated? What if he had been trying to spare the boy’s feelings? And no matter how serious Sam’s wound was, Catherine was personally responsible for it. She could not be more responsible than if she had fired the gun herself.

She carried her guilt like a leaden lump on the long ride out to Sam’s ranch. With her guilt came the knowledge she must confess to Sam and beg his forgiveness for meddling in his affairs. Sooner or later, he was bound to hear about her part in all this. Better he hear it from her—or at least that was what she kept telling herself. Either way, he would be furious and would probably hate her. Better he not think she was a coward on top of everything else.

Her plan to tell him seemed difficult enough without considering the added complication of trying to speak to Sam alone. A single woman simply did not hold private tete-a-tetes with men. How could she possibly manage to do so under the watchful eyes of her half-dozen companions?

Sam lay sprawled on the sofa in the front room when he heard the wagon in the yard. He figured one of his neighbors had come to see how he was doing, so he muttered a curse and took another swig of the whiskey the doctor had recommended for the pain.

He glanced down at the jeans and the bandages wrapped around his bare middle, which were all he wore. It was hardly proper attire for greeting guests, but whoever was out there would have to make do, since Sam had no intention of aggravating his wound by moving.

He took another swallow of whiskey and set the bottle on the floor beside him. It wouldn’t be proper to drink in front of company, he decided with a bleary grin. He figured he must be a little more than half drunk. As soon as his company left, he’d finish the job.

Davy had gone to meet the visitors, and Sam could hear his voice raised in outrage as he recounted the events of the previous night. Sam had been trying not to think about it, because whenever he did, he got so furious he could hardly see straight. Since he wouldn’t be able to take any action for a few days at least, he tried not to dwell on it. The whiskey helped—or it would if people didn’t keep interrupting his drinking.

He shifted very carefully to a more comfortable position when he heard the sound of footsteps on the porch.

“Look who came to see you,” Davy said, coming through the door and stepping aside with a flourish to reveal Catherine Eaton.

The sight of her hit him like a lightening bolt, stunning him so he did not even feel his body’s painful protest when he jerked in surprise. She was all decked out in her Sunday best, something blue that hugged her tiny figure with disturbing faithfulness. Getting shot had wiped the memory of their kiss from his mind, but now it came flooding back in a hot rush that tightened his loins and stopped his breath. Some distant part of his mind registered her stricken expression, and he was vaguely aware of several other women crowding in behind her.

“Hello, Sam,” Twila Shallcross said, frowning down at him with motherly concern. “Catherine here thought we should come out and see you, but from the look on her face, I don’t think she expected to see quite so much of you.”

Suddenly, Sam became aware of his indecent state of undress before this gaggle of ladies. Ignoring his body’s renewed protests, he struggled to get up and flee to the privacy of his bedroom, but Twila stopped him at once.

“Don’t you dare move. Davy, go get your brother a shirt, will you?” Twila scowled at Sam in disapproval. “You should really be in bed, you know.”

“It got lonely with nobody to keep me company,” the whiskey in him said.

Someone tittered, and Twila clucked a reprimand. She reached down and picked up the whiskey bottle, holding it high so she could judge the level of the contents. “How much have you had of this stuff?”

“Not enough,” he replied, resolutely refusing to look at Catherine again.

Twila shook her head and set the bottle down. “Well, don’t you worry. We’ve brought you some hearty beef broth to build your blood up again.”

Sam made a face, but Twila pretended not to notice. Just then, Davy came racing back into the room with a shirt for Sam. Davy helped him sit up, making Sam sorry he hadn’t finished off the whiskey, and held the shirt for him. It took Sam three tries to get his arm in the sleeve. When he glanced up self-consciously at his audience, he saw with some relief they had turned discreetly away—all but Catherine, who still stood staring at him as if she were transfixed.

Catherine had thought hearing about Sam’s wound was awful, but actually seeing the bandages and watching him in pain was infinitely worse. Someone spoke to her and took the bowl she held from her nerveless fingers, but she hardly noticed. Mesmerized by the sight of Sam Connors’s bare shoulders and the way the dark hair on his chest curled around the starkly white bandages, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from him.

Then, still struggling with the shirt, he looked up and caught her staring. His eyes glowed like black fire, and the heat from them reached across the room and scorched her. Did he already know what she had done? she wondered frantically.

“Do you have any idea who warned Gus Nylan you were coming?” Twila asked, making Catherine tremble.

At last Sam managed to get his arm in the sleeve and began trying for the other. “Not yet, but I figure he’ll be bragging about which one of the big ranchers turned on us.”

“What makes you think it was one of them?”

Sam slipped his arm into the other sleeve and sank back against the sofa in exhaustion. Or maybe he was in a drunken stupor. He was too inebriated to know exactly. He gave a brief thought to buttoning the shirt, then abandoned the project as too complicated. “It had to be one of them. Nobody else knew what we were planning.”

Catherine went weak with relief. He didn’t know yet, thank heaven. Maybe she could make him understand. Maybe he would forgive her. Maybe... Then common sense took over, and Catherine realized understanding and forgiveness were completely out of the realm of possibility. She would consider herself lucky if he didn’t murder her on the spot.

She cleared the hoarseness from her voice. “How— how badly are you hurt?”

He looked up at her again, his eyes more guarded this time, although she thought they still looked over-bright. Perhaps it was just the whiskey. Or maybe he had a fever. Had anyone checked?

“I was lucky. The bullet ricocheted off a rib. It took off about a pound of hide, but I’ll live.”

She wanted to check his temperature but reminded herself she had already exhibited quite enough interest in Sam Connors’s welfare. She would speak to Twila or Inez about it privately.

The other women were moving off toward the kitchen, carrying the food they had brought. Catherine lingered as long as she could and then had no choice but to follow the others.

Just as she started after them, David said, “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t stay over last night.”

Catherine winced and managed to mumble, “Yes” before she hurried from the room. If she had remained there last night, none of this would have happened. Sam Connors’s meeting would have been peaceful and possibly even successful, and he certainly wouldn’t be sitting in there swathed in bandages. Because of her interference, he might have been killed!

The thought sent the blood rushing from her head again, but she didn’t dare faint. She didn’t deserve the oblivion it would offer.

Inez seemed overwhelmed by the women who had descended on her kitchen, and she shot Catherine a desperate glance when she came in the room.

“Has Mr. Connors been running you ragged this morning?” Catherine asked, forcing herself to smile pleasantly.

“Si. He does not want to eat, and he will not stay in bed. I tell him he will catch a chill or get infected, but he does not listen.”

Twila clucked her tongue again. “He’ll listen to me. I’ll see he’s put to bed before we leave. Don’t worry about a thing, Inez. Just sit down and rest while we put this food away.” She turned to Catherine. “Maybe some of you should go keep Sam company.”

The others picked up on Twila’s matchmaking efforts instantly. “I’ll go with you,” one of the women, a Mrs. Price, offered, leaving Catherine no choice.

Certain Sam did not feel up to entertaining visitors—especially when one of them was going to confess her betrayal to him—Catherine walked back to the front room on leaden feet. How on earth would she ever speak to him alone?

Sam was lying down on the sofa again, and they caught him taking a swig from the whiskey bottle. “Doctor’s orders,” he explained. Catherine noticed his speech was a little slurred. Perhaps being under the influence, he would be less likely to fly into the rage to which he was entitled. The thought comforted her somewhat.

Her companion took a chair near the sofa, so Catherine followed suit, carefully refusing to look directly at Sam.

“I’m so glad Enoch didn’t go with you last night,” Mrs. Price remarked.

Enoch. Catherine remembered the name from the meeting and made the connection. Enoch was Enoch Price, one of the large ranchers. The Prices’ children were grown, so Catherine did not know them very well.

Sam only grunted, and a lengthy silence fell as everyone tried to think of something neutral to talk about. Catherine noticed David fidgeting, and she got a sudden inspiration.

“David, have you finished the picture you were working on yesterday?”

David gave her a blank look.

“If you have, I’d like to see it.” She rose and moved toward where he sat on the arm of the sofa at Sam’s feet.

His expression reflected his confusion. “I don’t—”

“Don’t be shy,” she said, giving him a wink and praying he would take the hint.

Still looking baffled, he stood and started off with her down the hallway that led to Sam’s office. As soon as they were out of sight, Catherine pulled him to a stop.

“What picture are you talking about?” he wanted to know.

She shook her head and waved away his question. “I need to talk to Sam alone. It’s very important. I have to tell him something about last night.”

David’s eyes widened. “You can tell me. I’ll—”

“No! I have to speak to Sam and no one else.”

He gave her a disgruntled frown. “Where? When?”

“Now, as soon as possible, and anywhere we won’t be interrupted. Can you get him away?”

“Sure, but how’ll you follow?”

“I’ll pretend I’m going outside to the necessary.”

David considered her plan for a moment, then nodded. “All right.” Before she could ask him what he was going to do, he turned on his heel and left her standing there. By the time she caught up, they were back in the parlor.

“You know, Sam, Mrs. Shallcross was right. You oughta be in bed,” he announced.

Catherine winced again. She couldn’t meet Sam Connors in his bedroom!

But David was giving her no choice. “Come on, I’ll help you up.” He lowered Sam’s bare feet to the floor while he was still blinking in surprise. “I’m sure Mrs. Price will understand. She thinks you oughta be in bed, too, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Price agreed, although she also seemed a little taken aback by David’s forceful attitude.

David helped Sam sit up, jarring a moan from him and earning a black look. Catherine bit her lip to keep from crying out in protest at David’s rough treatment. “Be careful,” she warned through stiff lips as David hauled Sam to his feet.

Sam wobbled a bit, and Catherine wondered if he were in pain or simply feeling the effects of the liquor. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said as David led him away. “Don’t forget the bottle.” David scooped it up and took Sam’s arm to steady him.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Price murmured when they were gone.

“I suppose we should tell the others he has retired,” Catherine said.

Mrs. Price nodded absently and followed Catherine back to the kitchen. There Twila had organized the women into a work party that was preparing meals for several days so Inez would be spared the labor while she cared for Sam. Catherine knew she should help, and she would, as soon as she had accomplished her mission. Without a word, she ducked out of the kitchen and headed for the central wing of the house.

David closed the bedroom door behind him and lowered Sam carefully onto his bed.

“Thanks, Davy,” Sam murmured, reaching for the bottle.

“Not yet,” David said, holding it away. “And don’t lay down. Miss Eaton’s coming in to see you.”

Sam shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Surely, he hadn’t heard Davy right. He must be drunker than he’d thought. “What did you say?”

“Miss Eaton told me she needed to talk to you alone. That’s why I brought you in here.”

Sam opened his mouth to remind him a man didn’t entertain ladies in his bedroom, when someone with delicate hands knocked on the door. David hurried to open it, and Sam pushed himself to his feet, cursing his wound for hurting and the whiskey for making him so dizzy. Appearing before Catherine Eaton in his bedroom, half dressed and shot to hell, was bad enough without the liquor making it worse.

At least this time he was ready for her. She seemed even smaller and more fragile than ever here where he had spent so many nights dreaming about her. What on earth could she want to talk to him about that made her willing to come to his bedroom?

She flashed Davy a look of entreaty, and he headed for the door. “I’ll wait outside in case anybody comes along.”

Catherine literally held her breath until the door latch clicked. Then she let it out in a shaky sigh. Sam Connors looked big and fierce enough to make her wonder how far he might go when enraged. She knew he would be enraged in just a moment.

“You wanted to talk to me?” he asked when she didn’t speak.

“I... yes, please, sit down. I know you must be in pain.”

His eyes darkened suspiciously, but he sank wearily down onto the bed again, cradling his side, and waited patiently. She tried not to stare at the expanse of bare chest or the bandages revealed by his unbuttoned shirt.

“There’s something I have to tell you, something I’m not very proud of, but you’re going to hear it anyway, sooner or later, and I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

He blinked, and she hoped she hadn’t gone too fast for him. At last he nodded. “Well?”

“The other night, when I was here?” He nodded again, and Catherine’s stomach quivered. “I—I overheard your meeting.”

This time his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Overheard?” His voice was hard, the soft blur from the whiskey gone.

“Yes,” she admitted, forcing herself to go on. “I couldn’t sleep, and when I saw all the riders, I went out to investigate.”

“You mean you spied on us.”

The quiver in her stomach became a searing pain. “As you will. At any rate, I heard something you didn’t. When the meeting broke up, Mr. Pettigrew told another man that he had sent for some gunmen from Dodge City. He was going to let you have your chance, but if things didn’t go well, he would do some night riding and even burn people’s houses if he had to.”

“Damn!” He considered her words for a few seconds and then said, “That’s it! He’s the one who warned Nylan. He wanted trouble so he’d have an excuse to—”

“No, he didn’t,” Catherine broke in, speaking with difficulty now that the time had come to make her confession. “I did. I’m the one who told Mr. Nylan.”

“What?” Sam lunged to his feet and instantly grabbed his side. He bit back a moan, but he grimaced in agony. Instinctively, Catherine reached for him, but he shook her hand off contemptuously. “You told Nylan? What in the hell were you trying to do, get me killed? That’s pretty stiff revenge for stealing a kiss.”

“I was trying to prevent violence!” she cried. “I thought if Mr. Nylan knew what Pettigrew planned, he’d understand he simply had to cooperate with you. Don’t you see? I was trying to help!”

“I’m glad you didn’t ‘help’ any more than you did. I’d be laid out in a pine box by now!”

“Sam, please! I’m so sorry. If I’d known Nylan was going to ambush you, I never would have warned him, but all I could think about was Pettigrew burning down the Nylans’ house with all those children inside. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to do something!”

“Why didn’t you tell me what Pettigrew was planning?”

His eyes were terrible, as hard as flint and full of scorn. She had no trouble recalling her reason. “I was afraid to.”

“Afraid?” he scoffed. “Of what?”

“Afraid you’d be furious, just like you are right now. Afraid you’d forbid me to teach David anymore!”

“And what makes you think I’d let you near him now?”

“N... nothing,” she said hoarsely, tears of regret welling in her throat. She wanted to weep for Sam’s pain and David’s wasted talent and her own foolishness, but she couldn’t, not yet, not until she was alone. “I’m sorry. If I could change the past, I would.”

She didn’t know what else to say, and Sam didn’t seem disposed to listen, anyway. She turned and started for the door. Her hand was on the latch when he stopped her.

“Catherine?”

Warily, she turned back to face him.

“Why did you tell me all this?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

“I knew you’d hear about it sooner or later. I wanted you to know my reasons.”

“You can’t be all that scared of me then.” His eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t name.

She sighed. “I knew I’d already lost David. I had nothing else to lose.”